


Clutching Your Pearls

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Bisexual Dana Scully, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Smut, Voyeurism, femmeslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Mulder catches Scully entertaining a guest in her hotel room. Set end of season 2/beginning of season 3. They both still have bad hair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of a "Slutty MSR" ask - http://wheres-mulder.tumblr.com/post/156499680598/one-time-scully-was-getting-eaten-out-by-a
> 
> Lucille Tate is definitely based off of Xena the Warrior Princess and please don’t read this in public. Please let me know if it’s hard to follow because of the style - no dialog format, just Mulder’s stream of consciousness. Would LOVE feedback! Also Mulder has his canon colorblindness here.

Running is  _ the _ choice exercise for the man who is always trying to escape something, be it criminals, full-fledged Honest-to-God-Monsters-Scully, or the veritable wreckage of his own warped psyche. But tonight he isn’t. No, really. Tonight he likes where he’s at, staying in this crappy motel, living his crappy little life. 

It’s been a good week. The good guys caught the bad guys, the little boy is reunited with his real parents while the demon-like replacements rot in jail or hell, and his teams are winning. Most of them. He’ll go on his run, come back, maybe jerk off a little and then, and  _ then _ , get the best night’s sleep he’s had in ages. 

He pulls on a sweater, grabs his water bottle, and makes the short trip over to Scully’s room to invite her along. She’s been complaining about gaining weight, which is stupid, but he figures he should ask her anyway. 

He doesn’t get to knock on her door. He just barely reaches her window before he trips into a bush. The blood in his head, his big ol’ brain, leaves so fast he absurdly wonders if he’s dying.

“Call me Lucille," Sheriff Lucille Tate had demanded, her smirk resting one inch above his nose. He’d thought it was a come on. He’d even imagined her sinking to her knees and begging him to fuck her throat and run his fingers through that long black hair. 

Obviously he hadn’t been the only one. Call-me-Lucille is on her knees, right now, as Dana Scully, his respectable, straight-laced partner, rides her face like a bicycle. 

There’s a record playing his his head that he can’t shut off. Something Scully said but he hadn’t really paid attention to.

These curtains are so sheer. These curtains are so sheer. Mulder, these curtains are so sheer! You can see everything.

These curtains are so sheer, Mulder thinks. So sheer he can see the mole on Scully’s left breast. It’s pretty. Her breasts are so pretty. The nipples are exactly the color of her nude lips when she nervously wets them with her tongue. 

She could calculate the slope of her own arched back if he asked her to. But does she know, how could she, how gorgeous her face is when someone draws their tongue over her clit while their fingers curl inside her? 

He cannot physically move himself from the window and even if he could, he’s a sorry asshole who couldn’t be paid to. He stands in plain sight, doesn’t even attempt to hide. The only thing his brain lets him do is fill in all the details his distance from the encounter obscures from him. 

Sheriff Tate has plush, brown lips, dimpled cheeks and a rounded jawline. Her bangs almost fall to her eyes. Scully pushes them back and forces her to look up while she says something, which Mulder decides is “Please, Lucille, lick my wet pussy.” And boy does Lucille obey, pushing her face to Scully’s body like she’s trying to crawl in. 

Mulder uses his FBI-qualifying investigative skills to imagine the events that led up to this. He needs a plotline. There is a bottle of pink wine on the nightstand, half empty. They didn’t drink enough to even get tipsy, so maybe it was only an excuse to get into Scully’s hotel room. They drank and ate gummy bears from the vending machine. Two bags crinkle on the bed.

Here’s where reality blurs into fantasy a little. He imagines: They were laughing and talking about the case. No. They were trading embarrassing college stories. I went to an all-girls college, Lucille revealed. Her waggled eyebrows hinted at some possibilities. This is where the fun began. 

Scully found this reveal hilarious. She giggled. Giggled. He thinks he heard it once when she was looking in his desk for a file and instead pulled out a deck of Pokemon cards. Her face was flushed from the wine. Oh, the hotel rooms were so cold. Scully’s nipples must’ve been hard under her blouse. She hadn’t changed into her pj’s yet, which he can tell by all the clothes dotting the floor. 

Lucille defended her choice: It offered a diverse educational experience! Sheriff Tate had changed before coming over here. Her jeans and t-shirt mingled with Scully’s work clothes. She went on, They promised I wouldn’t get distracted. Because it was an all-girls school. 

Did you? Did I what? Get distracted. Oh. Yeah. I guess I did. She went into a story involving the volleyball team and the girls’ locker room. Scully hadn’t been conscious of it but she was leaning in closer. So close. Lucille doesn’t wear perfume, just like Scully. They both smelled clean. Like soap. Like wine. 

Maybe Lucille told Scully she had been the only woman to graduate in her class at the police academy. Maybe Scully patted her arm in sympathy. Empathy. Scully plays in the man’s world like she’s being kind for letting men hang around. When Scully touched her, Lucille sucked in a breath. They looked at each other. And Lucille asked Scully to remove her clothes, and stand up, your calf muscles are so strong. And Scully did so. Did a strip tease. She knew she was being naughty and wanted to make it worse. 

Sheriff Tate’s breasts had caught Mulder’s attention because they filled out her uniform so well even though the uniform was made to conceal them. And Scully couldn’t stop touching them when they were revealed to her. I love your tits. Scully’s voice gets husky and breathless when she’s sad or scared and that’s what she sounded like when she said Lucille, god, I love your huge tits. Lucille pulled her head to her body, tossed her hair back when Scully closed her teeth around a puckered nipple. Mulder can’t remember the color of her eyes because he hasn’t known her long enough and he probably wasn’t looking at them. He decides they’re brown. Her brown eyes turned black when Scully started to suckle her. Enough of that, Dana, I want you. Lucille pushed Scully against the T.V. stand and dropped to her knees. Scooted closer. Looked up at Scully and placed a soft kiss to her belly, dragged her tongue through Scully’s plump, sticky labia. 

And now here they are. Mulder decides they never kissed. He’s watching the strong line of Lucille’s shoulders flex, he can’t see it but he knows she’s touching herself. Her clit. He thinks it’s bigger than Scully’s just because she’s so much bigger than Scully. Scully tastes so good, so thick, Lucille can’t help herself. But Mulder can’t bring himself to do the same, so he watches. Arms at his side. He’s so hard he feels himself leaking and sticking to the thin fabric of his cotton boxers. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching; it feels like this moment has constituted nearly a third of his life, like’s it’s the culmination of an important journey, a graduation, a sixteenth birthday, a funeral. But god, she must have come already. But maybe Lucille is prolonging it? Maybe she told Scully not to come. Not without her permission. Let her have it, Lucille, God, please let her have it. 

He’s watching the way Scully’s lashes flutter against her cheekbones. The way her tongue keeps darting over her lips. How many times has she done that in front of him? How will he ever look at her again without seeing what she looks like when she has her pussy licked? Without seeing himself on his knees, fucking her into oblivion with his tongue? 

And then. And then. Her eyes open. They drop to the mussed head between her legs. They linger. Her hands stroke Lucile’s hair and cheeks because she’s a gentle lover and he knows this because how could he not. These are the words Mulder puts into her mouth: “You’re making me feel so good.” And then her eyes are lifting, lifting, and they’re meeting his through the gauzy curtain.

Maybe he really did die. He hopes so. Is it weirder if he runs away? Sorry Scully, I was just running by when I caught a glimpse of you fucking another woman and I only saw a second of it? He stupidly watches her face for what she thinks he should do. 

The shock he feels could kill a lesser man, one who doesn’t eat his Wheaties and swim laps every morning at the Y. But it passes through this man like warm, all-encompassing caress, because Scully keeps her eyes on his and pulls Lucille closer, tells her something he can’t even begin to imagine. 

They hold the eye contact for the longest time and Mulder starts to feel like he’s the one that’s with her. It’s so sexy, it feels so much more than sexy and the thought is so terrifying he can breathe easier because his arousal is dampened by the fear. 

There isn’t much to worry about though, because Scully’s response to his temporary distraction is to lick her fingers and drag them slowly, so slowly, to her nipples. She flicks them, cupping her tits in each hand and kneading the impossibly soft (he’s sure of it) flesh. Now he can’t think enough to worry about being in love with her. 

Lucille lifts her head to ask something and briefly Mulder is given a glimpse into the promised land. Dana Scully’s cunt is as pretty as the rest of her, glistening and rosy and so engorged with arousal he swears he can see her clit throb. He knows that her neatly cropped public hair is red and it really turns him on, even if he doesn’t really know what that means. The crease of her thigh, the one he can see, is so slick it’s shining with her juices. Lucille’s fingers stroke her slit just once before pushing into her opening, and Mulder forces himself to look back up. He wants to see her face when she comes. Has to see her face. 

She’s still watching him and they watch each other when Lucille does something to burst the dam, and then Scully’s shouting something he can’t hear, rolling her hips into Lucille’s mouth. Her wavy, silken hair cascades down her back when she tosses her head. And she’s still looking at him, when her tremors subside and Lucille is kissing her way back up her body. 

But then they kiss and it’s deep, intimate, they know the way around each other’s mouths. It doesn’t feel good to watch this. Somehow it feels less fun to stand there now. She doesn’t look for him again.

His cock hurts like hell, but he still runs. Away. And he doesn’t get any sleep. 


End file.
